


Cronuts And Orgasms

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Ass Play, Comeplay, GKM Fill, M/M, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/48822.html?thread=62582198#t62582198">this GKM prompt</a>.  Kurt shows Blaine just how much he loves his ass.  Vague spoilers for 5x16.</p><p>Contains: bottom!Blaine, ass worship, rimming, spanking, barebacking, and comeplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cronuts And Orgasms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shanksmuseum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanksmuseum/gifts).



> Also a birthday fic for [Gabby](http://znks.tumblr.com/)!

"You're insane."

"Oh my god, it looks like cottage cheese. I have a cottage cheese ass and we're not even married yet. I have a cottage cheese ass before my first Tony, Kurt.”

"Blaine Devon Anderson, get away from that mirror right now.”

Blaine turns, and makes the face that he makes when he walks in on Sam and Mercedes going at each other. "I mean, even if it were like, evenly cottage cheese-y I might—but it's like, patches, and that's worse? Oh my god, when did this happen?"

He wriggles, and turns, and wriggles, and turns.

And that's only the first five minutes of this conversation. It goes on for the better part of an hour, and Kurt feels his blood pressure rising steadily with every passing minute.

That and his traitorous penis, which doesn't seem to mind at all the fact that Blaine has been bouncing and wriggling his half-naked ass for most of that time.

Kurt doesn't want to go overboard trying to convince Blaine of the attractiveness of his softer parts if he truly hates them and wants to change for his own happiness—but he doesn't want to pretend that he dislikes any part of Blaine, either. This is shaping up to be one of those times when he wants to say the right thing but ends up saying the exact wrong thing.

He watches Blaine out of the corner of his eye, the swell of his perfectly round ass and the little deposits of fat at his lower back and belly. Otherwise, Blaine is as trim and muscular as he always has been, and Kurt is of the opinion that Blaine is simply prone to thickness in certain spots and that he always will be no matter what he eats or how he exercises.

Kurt has never really thought about it before, because he has always found Blaine's body incredibly sexy—then, and now.

He tilts his head and lets his eyes rake over the dimples above Blaine's ass, across the round distension of his belly where the hair is springing back already from its last wax. The stubble is dark and sharp and trails like a brush stroke from his navel into his briefs, which are hanging low on his pelvis from the inspection he's been conducting, hooked on the rise of his soft cock like a sweater draped over a coat rack knob.

Kurt's face goes hot and he licks his lips.

"Kurt? Kurt, are you listening?"

"Uh," Kurt says, blinking. "Yes?"

"You're not even listening. I am in _crisis_. If prancercising hasn't worked, what will?" he demands with a whine. “I should jog, maybe. Do you think I should jog? Sam swears by it, and his body is amazing—”

This has gone on long enough, Kurt decides. He's hard from gawking at his fiance, his patience in general has run out (he's heard enough about Sam's body to last him a lifetime of faint jealousy over a build that he will never possess), and Blaine clearly needs him to do something.

"Okay, look. Enough." He stands and points. "You, bed, now."

"What?" Blaine asks, eyes darting back and forth. "Now is not the time, I have to—"

Kurt doesn't even think about it. He just walks up behind Blaine, grips him by the thickest part of his ass with both hands and walks him over to the bed. He waits, a single heartbeat, and when Blaine offers no further protest, breathes against his ear, "I'm going to take off your clothes now."

"Kurt," Blaine whimpers, and he isn't sure whether it's protest or excitement, but it sounds like a little bit of both, which works for him.

He jerks Blaine's khakis and underwear off in one smooth motion, then bends him over the foot of the bed.

He's always loved Blaine's muscled thickness—where he had simply had chubby spots as a teenager, Blaine had always been hard, and now that he's replaced his soft spots with muscle, he loves that Blaine's ass and belly have grown softer. It feels almost as if they've balanced each other, physically.

He loves the way that Blaine's ass sticks out now no matter what pants he wears, round and mobile and the perfect shape and density for squeezing, for overflowing in Kurt's palms. He loves the way that Blaine's ass moves when they move together, whether they're fucking or rubbing off on each other or dancing or snuggling. He loves the way that he has to use his hands to keep Blaine open for him when he dips down to put his mouth there. He loves the way that Blaine bunches up when he bends, creating two little pinches of soft flesh above his ass.

"I love your body," he says, dragging his palms up, down, over, and around the smooth shape of Blaine's ass. "I love this gorgeous, round ass, clothed or naked. You know that, right?"

"God, Kurt," Blaine whimpers.

"I love touching it, I love looking at it," he says, drawing his thumbs up along the furred crevasse. He pinches the rise of one cheek just to watch its skin go red.

They don't often talk about the slightly kinkier things they do in the heat of the moment, and for a moment Kurt is self-conscious. It's the middle of the day. The afternoon sun hides nothing. But he can't stop himself.

"I love spanking it," he whispers roughly, and feels Blaine tense even before his hand lands, off-center and sharp on the left cheek.

"Oh," Blaine moans, and Kurt can feel the relief, the pleasure that courses through him at that, watches his shoulders go loose and his torso sag and his knees dig into the mattress, reads the _please please more please don't stop_ in every line of his body.

Flushed and breathing faster, he asks, "Do you want me to get the hairbrush?"

The embarrassment in Blaine's reply only makes him stiffen further. "Y-yeah."

He shakes the whole way to the dresser and back, even though it's only a few feet.

They don't really—organize this stuff, or label it, but Blaine on all fours at the end of the bed with his naked feet hanging off of the edge, plush ass in the air, just waiting for Kurt to spank him, is the most erotic thing that he's ever seen.

He drags the smooth back of the wooden brush over Blaine's ass, making sure that his balls and cock are hanging neatly below him before gently bringing down the head of it. Blaine moans. His fists clench and he leans forward on his elbows, his head dipping between his arms.

"Please," he gasps.

The word is like a trigger for Kurt. He brings the brush down again, and again, never on the same spot. When he has covered every inch of Blaine's ass he waits, smooths his fingers over the skin to get the blood flowing and to soothe Blaine, who is rocking on his knees and whimpering loudly.

"Love watching your ass get all red, love watching it twitch when I make it hurt," he says, jiggling the flesh between his fingers.

After a moment he starts all over again, bottom to top, slapping Blaine's ass dark with the brush, until he keeps shifting up the bed, almost unconsciously edging away from the too-much sensation.

Blaine's knees spread wider, and Kurt stops to trace the furl of his crack with the handle of the brush. He'd really only intended to spank Blaine and maybe jerk him off, take his mind off of things, but Blaine's body is begging and Kurt doesn't need it to be verbal to hear it.

"Want to be open, sweetheart?" he asks, tracing Blaine's twitching, dry hole with the tip of brush handle.

"Oh, god, yes, please."

Kurt sets the brush down on the bed and goes for the lubricant instead, setting it in reach. They may not even get that far, but once he's busy he isn't going to want to stop.

He bends low over Blaine's body, kisses the knobs of his spine all the way to the rise of his ass, feels him tremble and grow hot to the touch.

God, he is stunning. How could he ever think that he is anything less than gorgeous?

"Perfect," Kurt murmurs as he reaches down to part Blaine's cheeks. "So perfect, baby."

He drops to his knees.

He kisses, dry and sparse, down Blaine's crack, over his hole, over the delicate crinkle of his balls and back up again. He does this half a dozen times before he settles over Blaine's pucker, traces it with his tongue, just the tip, to tease his ass up higher, to earn the high-pitched whines that always fall when he first touches Blaine there.

"Oh my god," Blaine says, hands curling into fists around the bedspread. "Oh my god, please."

"I want to hear you," he says, kitten-licking in circles. He points his tongue when it cramps the first time, digs the tip of it into the winking center of Blaine's hole. His cock jerks as he feels it give.

When Blaine gets used to the scrape of Kurt's stubble-covered chin and upper lip he begins to let go; Kurt can feel self-consciousness replaced by sensation. He groans against Blaine's thick, trembling flesh and digs in, kissing and suckling at his rim hungrily. Blaine's crack is already soaked, his hips churning back into the touch.

Kurt pulls back to just watch, watch as Blaine's pink-brown, spit-slick pucker gapes between the thick halves of his spanked-red ass, spreading wider with every backward shift of his pelvis.

"This ass is mine. You know that, right?" he breathes, stroking the slippery crevasse, rubbing Blaine's hole, his perineum, his cheeks, making them work for him, up and down.

"All yours," Blaine moans.

"Can't even keep my hands off of it for more than two seconds," he says, squeezing, squeezing, stroking. “Just the way it is, Blaine, or whatever way it is—I love it.”

"Please, please, need—"

"Yeah?" Kurt asks, kissing, licking over the winking hole.

He doesn't wait for a response—he just spreads Blaine apart with his thumbs and licks inside, hard and sure, feeling the elastic muscle clamp around his tongue.

Blaine wails.

Kurt sets his chin and holds Blaine's cheeks still and begins a rhythm, slowly fucking his tongue in and out, in and out, in and out, until the wails become sobs and gibberish and Blaine is babbling so loudly that it's begun to echo around the loft, and Kurt is so hard from it that he can't think.

He can't let Blaine rock back against him freely because if he did the thrusting would ruin the pressure so he holds Blaine's hips still, pushes against him to counterbalance, doesn't let him control the movement, and his frustrated groans are delicious.

Kurt loves the taste of him, bitter dark and masculine.

This is when he usually stops, but for whatever reason—having sex in noon light after having started by spanking your boyfriend's ass with a hairbrush is a pretty good way to change things up—Kurt doesn't want to. He wants more, more of this sticky-sharp exploration, more of Blaine's desperation, more time to convince him that he's hot as hell and everything that Kurt could ever want.

So he digs in, presses his whole face in between Blaine's cheeks and plunges his tongue as far as it can go, licking frantically in and out, flickering against the edges of Blaine's rim, against the smooth, hot softness of his anus, grinding his mouth and chin and cheeks against the sensitive skin of his ass.

There is logic to the crudeness of the phrase “eating out”, as he discovers, because that's what it feels like—like he's consuming Blaine, gobbling up every inch and loving it.

"Oh my god, so good, so—Kurt, that's—oh, oh, oh—d-don't stop, don't stop, please—"

When Kurt's jaw is so cramped he literally can't do it anymore he pulls out and fuck, Blaine is soaked, and so open that Kurt thinks they could fuck without lubricant and call it a day, but—not yet.

He can't help stroking those cheeks apart just to watch them jiggle together again. He pinches the red marks where the brush had landed particularly hard. He bites across one cheek, and then the other, as Blaine bucks and sobs beneath him. He closes his mouth around patches of skin, sucks until there are mouth-shaped bruises under his lips. He slaps Blaine lightly with his hand, just to watch blood move under his skin where the marks have swollen up.

Blaine is wrecked, and that's proven when the next words out of his mouth are filthy, because he almost never swears, not even in bed. In truth, neither of them do; it's only when they get to this point where literally nothing matters but taking pleasure from each other that they let go verbally.

"Fuck me," he moans, face buried in the mattress, thighs clenched and trembling, ass rocking in the air as if it's already feeling the phantom slide of a cock inside of it. "Please, fuck me. Fuck me." Kurt reaches for the lubricant tube. Blaine hears the creak and snap and reaches between his legs to stroke himself. "Not too much. Don't need it, and I want to feel you."

"Mm, you will," Kurt says, dabbing Blaine's gaping hole, and then wiping his hand off on one cheek before stepping back to take his clothes off.

"Could you—" Blaine starts, and then stops. Kurt waits, rubs himself through his jeans. The shaft of his cock has fattened up down the right leg of his pants; he squeezes it, breathing heavily, staring at Blaine's swollen, open, wet ass spread out in front of him. "Could you just—with your clothes on?"

Shuddering, he ruts against the back of Blaine's thigh. "Sure."

He feels filthy, undoing his fly and easing his cock from the waistband of his briefs with Blaine so completely naked and on edge for him. He drags the shaft up and down Blaine's crack, relishing the way that it tries to clamp shut around him, so flushed and full and thick.

"God, you're big," Blaine whimpers, stretching forward onto the bed, almost onto his belly, "so thick and long, god, please, put it me, please, need it fucking me open."

Kurt follows, eyes trained on Blaine's naked, olive-toned body, and drapes himself over Blaine's back, straddles that plush ass, practically sits down on it while rutting through the grasp of its cheeks. He loves the way that his dick looks there, swollen and tight-headed and flushed, dragging back and forth between them, leaving them sticky with pre-come.

"Like this? On your belly, taking my cock so deep?" He kisses the sweaty hair at the nape of Blaine's neck, and drops his voice to a low rasp. "Ass was made for my cock, baby, god—drives me crazy." He reaches between them to squeeze and spread Blaine open around him, feels his hole fluttering and eager. "Want it so bad. Want to be stuffed full, don't you?"

"Do it hard, just—really hard."

Shivering, Kurt braces his knees on either side of Blaine's hips and rises up, steadying himself, lining up the head against Blaine's rim carefully because he wants to be inside in one stroke. His leg muscles go rigid with it, and he's staring down between their bodies when he comes down, watching the fat width of his dick sink inside of Blaine's ass.

They normally take more time. Kurt is—big. But he doesn't wait. He lets his body weight draw him down, feels the impossibly tight rings of Blaine's ass give way, one and then the other, and it's so fucking tight that Kurt holds his breath until he bottoms out.

"Fuck," Blaine cries out, half-muffled by a pillow. "God, that's a lot.”

The drag back out is like being sucked in reverse, Blaine's ass clinging the whole way, and the second slide back in is easier, but it never goes soft. Blaine is keeping himself tight on purpose.

Gasping against his hair, Kurt lets his pelvis settle—they'd hardly used any lubricant, and the drag is rough, so intensely tight around his cock.

"Okay?" He runs his hands along Blaine's arms, tangles their fingers against the pillows and presses Blaine down into the bed.

"Move," Blaine gasps, ass churning against his pelvis. "Please."

He begins slowly just to make sure that it's good, rocking his pelvis into the cushion of Blaine's ass cheeks, feeling the hungry swallowing clamp of him, impossibly snug and hot, and the soft, hairy spill of his ass jiggling at the end of every thrust. He pauses for one moment, just to shift his underwear and jeans down around his knees so that he can move freely.

And then it's quicker, lubricant-tacky skin and hair, his balls tapping Blaine's, his belly tight to Blaine's back, chest to his shoulder blades, cheek to the back of his head. Faster, and faster, until it's skin slapping skin, and his balls bouncing off of the space in between Blaine's thighs.

Suddenly not enough. Kurt sits up slightly on his knees, puts one hand on Blaine's ass so that he can leverage up and watch.

He wants to see it. Wants to see his cock driving in and out of Blaine's body. Wants to watch those gorgeous, round, flushed, bitten cheeks pillow him as he hammers in between them.

Blaine is so hot. _They_ are so hot. He's not modest enough to deny how big his dick is, how thick, and how virile he feels making Blaine's tiny little body take him to the root where he's so wide that he knows it's almost uncomfortable.

"You look so good around me," he says, holding Blaine's hips between his hands, lifting his ass off of the mattress to fuck into him faster. And then he slows down, dragging out to the head just to watch the slick, shining column of flesh leave Blaine wet and open, to watch it twitch hungrily in anticipation of his return. He pushes the head back in and then the rest, Blaine's swollen rim puffed up around him, swallowing him. "Ass looks so good taking it, fuck, just like that, baby, give that ass up for me."

"Stay—stay inside, please—so close, fuck, just let me rub on the bed, just need to come, don't care, god, Kurt, please—"

Kurt lets him sink down again, takes his hands away and puts them on the bed again. Covers Blaine with his body from shoulder to knee and fucks down into him, fast and rough, working his hips into the mattress. The bed squeaks wildly, shifts beneath them, and Blaine's thighs spread as wide as they can within the bracket of Kurt's.

Kurt can feel the tension in him, the tightness across his shoulders and the clench of his ass as he gets closer, as he fucks himself down against the bedspread—it takes longer this way, but he loves coming without being touched. His hips snap frantically as he chases it, as Kurt tries to find the best angle, the one that will make him squeak and scream and gasp.

He's sure that the entire block knows what he's doing to Blaine at this point, and doesn't care at all. A wicked, proud thrill surges through him at the thought of everyone knowing just how amazing they are together.

Blaine gets tighter the closer he gets to coming, and it's all Kurt can do to not fall apart.

"Close," Blaine cries, shoulders bunched and red under Kurt's cheek. "Close, close, so close, keep doing that. Oh, god. Oh, fuck, yes, there. There, there, there, K-Kurt, oh, god, make me come, make me come, make me come—feels so good, fuck, cock's so big, so hard in me, fuck—"

Panting, Kurt bites the back of his shoulder and presses him down, hard, not stopping. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it. Fucking gorgeous, come on. Give me all that come, sweetheart."

"Shit," Blaine hisses, and Kurt feels the orgasm rip through him—he goes stiff from head to toe, screams his pleasure to the far wall. His ass pulses around Kurt's cock, pelvis snapping, knees bending, toes curling, body rebelling against the weight of Kurt's on top of it. He sobs through every jolt and as they recede his ass goes looser and looser, his body sagging.

Shaking, on edge, Kurt bends, presses his forehead to Blaine's shoulder and pushes deep inside of him.

"You didn't come?" Blaine gasps wetly, writhing under him.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ , I am—right there."

"God, you're incredible." Blaine's hips rock, dragging Kurt deep and then letting him retreat.

He closes his eyes and rocks helplessly forward, grinding himself in and out with choppy little circular thrusts. "Gonna come inside of you," he whines, feeling Blaine's ass bounce against his pelvis. "Gonna come so hard inside of your perfect ass." Blaine whimpers.

He falls apart at the sound, cock pulsing, body wild on top of Blaine's for several moments as it unravels down his spine—thrust, thrust, thrust, bed shaking, stars behind his eyes and heat and pleasure vying for the majority of his attention, Blaine's hole like the circle of a fist, dragging the length of him, working every last drop from him.

He's fucking _tapped_.

He sits up on his knees because it actually makes his screaming muscles feel better and gently, slowly pulls out of Blaine's ass. He watches the abused hole close up, or try to, and thumbs Blaine's sticky cheeks to keep them apart.

He almost doesn't ask. He feels a little weird about it, but then—not.

"Show me," he says.

"W-what?" Blaine is blissed out, sprawled bonelessly on his belly.

"Push it out?"

"Oh my god."

"That's it, just—" Blaine's swollen anus throbs, pulses, outward, inward, outward, inward, and finally a thick gush of white come drips from his ass, trickles over the sac of his balls and down the back of his leg. "Yeah, push it all out for me." Shaking, he does, until it's just wet shiny skin and his thighs and hips trembling, and Kurt is smearing it with his fingers, staring obsessively at the sight of it, white and thick and all his, dripping from his fiance's body, debauched and filthy, framed by those lush cheeks. "God, that looks—amazing."

He shifts down the bed and puts his mouth over Blaine's pucker, licking it softly.

" _Kurt_ , oh my god, I'm disgusting right now, it's all—mess," Blaine squeaks.

"My mess," Kurt drawls, licking over the blazing hot, come-sticky flesh to soothe it. He stops only because he feels Blaine's tension, shifts instead to dropping kisses all over the warm skin of his ass. He kisses every mark, every smear, every tooth mark, until Blaine is a puddle on the bed.

They roll away from the wet spot, Kurt spooning up behind Blaine after he kicks his underwear and jeans and shirt off. They hold each other, stroke each other until the temperature of the room goes down, until their pulses aren't racing quite so fast.

Kurt kisses below Blaine's ear, overwhelmed. "That—got out of hand."

Blaine laughs. "You, um. You made your point."

"Loud and clear?"

"The loudest and clearest." He breathes out, relaxed. "I never want to hear the word cronut again."

Kurt sighs. "They are so good, though."

"Never again."

Kurt grins. "Okay, okay. I love your body exactly the way it is. But if you want to make some healthy changes—we'll bid the cronuts farewell."

"We could just do more of this, I guess." He snuggles back against Kurt. "Maybe sex and cronuts will cancel each other out?"

"One cronut, one orgasm?"

"I'm thinking more of a one cronut to two orgasms ratio."

"Mm, very smart," Kurt says, and strokes his hand down the curve of Blaine's ass.

"The smartest," Blaine agrees, and rolls over on top of him.


End file.
